


Who Are You?

by Witete



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Amnesia, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Episode: s02e20 Weirdmageddon 3: Take Back the Falls, Self-Hatred, these poor old men need to sort their shit out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-09-02 06:54:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8655052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Witete/pseuds/Witete
Summary: He knows what he's not and doesn't want to be what he is.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Request for Mclucky13!!!  
> Hope you enjoy!

Stan smiled at the box television from his spot on the armchair, his eyes twinkling in amusement as he watched the younger version of himself play on the beach, kicking up sand and shells and flinging them into the frothing tide of the ocean. He let out an occasional laugh as he watched, amused by his and Ford’s antics as they rolled playfully in the sand, their mother behind the camera griping about how they were going to track that sand back into the house. The two young boys seemed unperturbed by her concerns and continued to play, their dark brown heads speckled with scintillating sand.

The smile that Stanley gave though was not something of recognition, though; it was childlike amusement and that made Ford’s heart twinge.

The older twin was sitting on the large tyrannosaur skull sat beside the armchair, wringing his hands nervously in his lap. He stared at the middle ground, not quite watching the television, but not directing his attention elsewhere either. This was important and Ford knew it, but he couldn’t seem to bring himself to watch the old films, not when he couldn’t enjoy them with the Stan he missed. 

The house was relatively quiet. The clouds outside the shack were accumulating, darkening as the weight of rain began to settle inside their frames. The wind that itched at the myriads of pines was gaining strength, beginning to whistle gently through the house’s body. The shack was pretty much fixed at this point; there were only a few misplaced planks of wood and grit that were scattered around the house, but that was not the most pressing task at the moment. The old film projector chugged on; it’s continuous and cacophonous sound keeping the eldest twin from sinking into some senseless abyss. The kids were upstairs presumably, which left the old men together- at least physically.

Ford chewed his lip and ducked his head further as Stanley laughed again. Ford couldn’t discern what was going on in the film, as the images were muddled messes of colour above his hooded eyes. His hands clutched each other tighter, his nails biting into the skin.

 _It wasn’t supposed to be like this,_ he thought silently, the words scratching mercilessly into his brain. _Why did it have to be like this?_

 _Because of you,_ his brain unhelpfully supplied, making him wince outwardly.

 _He did it willingly though,_ he tried to reason, but it was a rather weak attempt against his general sense of guilt that was forever permanent inside his gut.

Stan gave another chuckle as the faint words to _happy birthday_ filtered through Ford’s ears, crackling through the static of age. Ford released another involuntary shudder and practically put in head in his lap, trying to push his shoulders against his ears.

He fought the tears as they preyed at the corners of his eyes, the chugging of the projector not enough to keep the poisonous thoughts from corroding his head.

_I’m sorry._

The phrase kept churning through his mind, each time filtering a different clause that carried a different weight.

_...that this happened…that I hurt you again…that you can’t remember…that I called you here in the first place…_

The thoughts pushed on, the guilt feeling physical upon his shoulders, causing him to shake.

That was until a voice struck the darkness of his thoughts like a painful burst of light.

“Hey, a-are you okay?”

The guilt on his shoulders morphed into a hand, heavy like lead on his body, and massaging gently; trying to coax him out of the dark place he was reeling in.

The machine beside him chugged.

“Y-yes, fine,” Ford stuttered, probably unconvincingly, but he was more concerned in getting the words out than what they sounded like.

“We- uh, don’t have to watch these if it makes you uncomfortable,” the man -Ford was rather hesitant still to call him Stanley with devotion- said too quietly and too kindly.

The puzzle wasn’t fitting together and Ford feared that it never would.

“N-no,” Ford said, giving himself a head rush as he suddenly straightened his back, refusing to look at the man, but not looking at the screen either- back in the middle space.

“It’s important.” Ford shuts his eyes at the lame attempt, hoping Stan would at least consider his words.

Stan made a sound beside him –if it was a scoff or a breath Ford couldn’t really tell- before his grip tightened. Ford fought the urge to wrench himself away, feeling his muscles tense under Stan’s –this _man’s-_ constricting grip. He had just enough self-control to realize that an action like that would only set them back further.

 _It’s not like you’re very far to begin with though,_ Ford’s thoughts bit and he swallowed thickly.

“We don’t have to do this,” Stan hummed, and Ford could practically feel his gaze boring into his skull. “My head ain’t more important than yours.”

Ford paused and side-eyed Stan, albeit with difficulty, and frowned.

Stanley was looking at him with something that was borderline pity, but for a moment it felt as if the younger twin was seeing elsewhere. His gaze flickered from Ford’s face, to the screen, and back into a middle ground. His face shadowed with something dark and his eyes narrowed slightly.

The hand on Ford’s shoulder tensed.

Stan repeated the phrase to himself and after a few terse moments, looked up at Ford with something like mild confusion. Ford shifted under the gaze, but didn’t take his eyes off Stan as he tried to sort through his rustled memories.

A flare of hope burned in Ford’s chest as he watched the cogs turn behind Stan’s eyes. _Something_ was happening; he was remembering something- he had to be! It was confusing Stan, but that was okay! They could sort through the confusion together.

Ford turned more fully to Stan, almost hating the way he was scrutinizing his brother, but he couldn’t help it- Ford was just as eager for Stan to regain his memories as anyone else, possibly even more.

“What is it?” Ford pressed after a few seconds, trying to egg on whatever was going on inside his brother’s head.

Maybe that was the wrong thing to do.

The shadow of confusion darkened into something else- something sad and lonely; it morphed into something hateful.

“Why’re you here?”

Ford felt his heart cough and stop, leaving a gaping, black hole where it should be. His blood turned to ice and that hope that had burned a small fire in his chest was immediately extinguished, his entire temperature dropping into icy ocean waters.

The hand was removed unceremoniously and Ford’s gaze turned almost pleading as he began to hunch again, trying to curl up and vanish into the floor.

“W-what do you mean?” Ford barely choked the words out, past the hurting and the guilt.

Stan almost looked shocked at Ford’s response. It was almost as if the answer was right under Ford’s nose and Stan was alarmed that he couldn’t see it.

“Why would you want to help Stanley?”

Ford, thrown through another loophole, stared up at his brother, searching his dark eyes for a tell as to what was going on behind his eyes.

 “Why wouldn’t I?” he tried softly, his voice cracking with hurt.

Stan shot him a scathing look, but after a moment, Ford realized it wasn’t completely directed at him. Stan kept his eyes on him, but pushed away from him as far as the sofa would allow.

Ford would be lying if he said it didn’t make the tears push more forcefully against his eyes.

“Who are you?”

The words that unintentionally slipped from Ford’s mouth made Stan freeze, his eyes blown and his mouth drawn in a scared frown. Ford’s eyes knit up in sorrow, tears ready to peel from his eyes faster than light.

“Please, Stan,” Ford nearly begged, a broken half-sob escaping his lips. “Please tell me who you are.”

But Stan was already shaking his head before Ford finished speaking, muttering to himself. He brought a hand to his mouth and chewed on the first knuckle.

“-didn’t like Stan. No, no. Stan- Stan- Ford; liked Ford. Stanford, Stanford, Stanford- M-my name is Stanford Pines, Mister Mystery-“

Ford’s breath caught in his throat as he watched his brother weed through his memories- the _wrong_ memories- helpless as his brother tuned out the air around him.

Tears finally graced his cheeks.

Stan continued mumbling, shifting still further if Ford tried to move closer, and his eyes frantic and lost.

“Stanley’s dead, u-useless; useless and stupid. Nobody would want to be Stanley-“

“Stanley worked for thirty years to get Stanford back,” Ford spoke suddenly, his low voice shattering the frigid atmosphere.

Stan shot him a look, not quite a glare, but not a kind glance either. He shook his head. “Got Ford there in the first place,”

“Not his fault,” Ford pressed. “He was protecting himself. Ford was trying- trying to h-hurt him.”

Ford winced and tore his gaze from Stanley, the old event playing inside his head like an old VHS tape- the memory tattered and worn and faded, but livid enough to be felt- to be real.

“F-Ford is the good one; the smart one. Stanley is-was- the scum; better dead. L-like a curse.” Stan stammered, his entire body shaking and his teeth beginning to draw blood from his knuckle. Ford moved closer to him and this time Stan didn’t budge.

“Stanford loves Stanley,” Ford murmured, not trusting his voice not to crack. “Stanley is not better dead; never. Please remember him,” Ford begged this time, reaching slowly out for his brother.

“The one who stood up to nasty kids; the one who loved toffee peanuts; the one who kept Dipper and Mabel safe against an apocalypse; the one who brought Stanfo- brought _me_ back,” Ford urged, his hand making contact with Stan’s shoulder.

Stan looked up at his brother, his free hand immediately reaching for Ford’s on his shoulder. The touch was like electricity, but it seemed to ease Stan’s quivering a little.

“Stanley gives everything he has to help his family and his family loves Stanley more than he can even comprehend. He’s just as worth it as Stanford is- maybe even more,” Ford breaths, searching Stan’s eyes.

They were still laced with fear, rimmed with tears and agony, but their full attention was on Ford.

“There’s no shame in being Stanley,” Ford swallowed. “Stanford misses him.”

There was a beat of silence before Stan sniffed and pushed his forehead into Ford’s chest. Ford instantly hugged him, burying his face in his shoulder.

The tears were unrelenting now.

“Stanl- _I_ missed you too,” Stanley –actually Stanley- murmured into Ford. Each intake of breath sent a shudder through him and his hands kneaded the back of Ford’s sweater.

Ford let out a broken chuckle and hugged his brother tighter, freezing as a soft “sorry” escaped his brother’s lips.

“No; there’s nothing to be sorry for, please don’t apologize to me.” Ford buried his nose further into Stan’s shoulder. “I’m sorry for everything.”

Stan let out a scoff and shook his head, but didn’t say anything.

They sat for a while, listening to nothing but their exchanging heartbeats and the clanging of the projector beside them. The films reeled on; the laughter and banter making the elder pair laugh and smile tiredly, even though they weren’t keen on watching.

Eventually two pairs of arms snuck their ways around both their backs, their small hands patting their shoulders gently.

“Are you okay?” Mabel’s voice asked gently after a couple minutes. Dipper nodded into Ford’s shoulder, wordlessly repeating the question too.

“I- I am now,” Stan said softly, picking his head up and facing the other three. He kept a hand on Ford’s shoulder though and Ford kept his on Stan. Stan gently opened his free arm and embraced the small girl, pressing a kiss on the top of her head. Dipper pushed up against Ford’s open side and gave their Grunkle Stan a small smile.

“I am now.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Request things for me to write in the comments!  
> I've decided that requests will only fill about 1000-3000 words unless I am absolutely in love with the idea.


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